Could You do it?
by marisaDKNY
Summary: HAITUS AU/human: Bella's world is not what she wants. Can one boy change her world permently? Suck summary. BXE and not a happy ending but lots of fluff and angst thoughts
1. preface

She sat there as the cold breeze whipped through her hair. Hugging her knees, the icy teardrops fell on her pants. Her cheeks tingled from the whiplash. Her eyes were swollen and red, her nose cold. Her body was numb and vacant. Her hallow heart hurt. She was trembling violently. Her head was in other place, remote and distant. She couldn't do it any more. She couldn't continue with this charade she had pulled herself through for numerous years. It was eating her alive. The pain she endured was nothing more than the numbness that she felt through her frozen toes.

She could do it. Right here, right now. Nobody would find her for countless days. She stared plaintively at the grey ocean. The white crested waves collided with the sinister sand, washing it away. It could wash away her sorrows, thoughts, and herself. Everyone would think it was an mishap.

She turned her head towards the shaggy blue bag next to her, pulled out a plastic bag and a pill container, and laid them out neatly before reaching in again and pulling out a needle. Either way she did it, everything around her would be bliss. Another tear ran down her cheek as she turned to stared out towards the ocean again.

Could she do it? Could she choose between two pains? Could she make the two decisions that would affect herself and everyone around her? There was no doubt that the pain was what she wanted to get rid of.

She remembered a book she read in ninth grade. She loved the way it ended- one quick shot to the back of the head. No pain could be endured.

Her eyes darkened. No one would do that to her. No matter how much she begged or pleaded, she would end up in an asylum, and forevermore still be in pain.

Slowly she reached for the plastic bag. The white powder skittered around. She was mesmerized by the white detail of it, getting lost again in her mind. She had never tried it before, but heard about it, all the stories of the cruel addictions, and the deaths that they were responsible for. It was so simple to get, no questions needed. The wind picked further; the bag trying to escape from her hands. Her arm stretched out to grab the bottle that was rolling away. She hesitated then suddenly she popped the lid.

She peered down at the ten pills. The miniature white pills rattled against the plastic. Ten pills can do so much, put together with the bag mixed with Speed, Ecstasy, and LSD; the time would be so diminutive.

With a heavy sigh, she peered back at the ocean. The clouds began to pour profoundly. Her body was sodden completely. The drops of rain hid her tears. She let out a shaky sigh.

Could she do it?

"She told me a story long ago about a dream she had. She was lying down in a big white empty room. There were no windows but she would feel the sun's warmth showering over her skin. The air was clean and crisp. The whole room was filled with honesty.

Then slowly, the air began to turn cold and heavy. She could feel the pressure on her chest; keeping her down. Mesmerizing colors then began to appear in the room. Every color of the rainbow and others that she could not describe began to play before her eyes.

They fascinated her. She could feel them, smell them, and even hear them. She swore she could sense them beckoning her. She wanted to but something was holding her back from her desire. Her attempt failed, and she felt herself being suffocated by an imaginary bag. Her lungs burned as she tried to breath in the cold air. The burning sensation then turned into numbness as she felt her limbs becoming paralyzed, all but her head

Her eyes were still watching the beautiful colors dance around. She lay there for what seemed like forever until she finally woke up from her dream. Her dream became repetitive for two weeks. She would wake up cold, huddled under a blanket and her mind racing night after night unable to escape the nightmare.

After the two weeks, she could not sleep. Her eyes would not rest, and she ended up staring at the ceiling.

I remember her telling me that she memorized every crack and cranny on her ceiling. She would memorizes and rememorize for a month. She couldn't understand why she so interested in it. She felt an urge that she could not control. She felt helpless, small and weak.

However, on April seventeenth, the night was hot and humid. That night she was finally able to sleep. She had a dream; not the one in the white room, she was on a cliff. Just below was a deserted beach. The unwelcoming waves were pounding against the sand. The sky was overcast, no light escape the frightening clouds.

What stood before her were a small Rabbit and a huge Jackal. The Rabbit was white, except for its eyes. The crimson pupils glowed against the white fur, giving it an eerie presence.

Whereas the Jackal, gave off a more pugnacious presence. The body was smooth and black; showing off every detail of its sinister stance.

The Rabbit spoke, "Come with me. I'll show you things you have never dreamed of. Follow me, and you won't have to worry about anyone else but yourself." She could taste the sickly sweetness in the Rabbit's voice.

The Jackal then growled and retorted, "Come back to reality. To where you know how everything is going to end." The roughness of the Jackal voice would have made a anyone flinch.

They both tried to convince her to pick a side. She told me she never made a choice but instead jumped off the cliff, falling until at last she woke up.

I saw her steal the pills from the shopping mart. I watched her hand the money over to the drug dealer for the powder. I followed her in my car as she drove to the end of the road, to the deserted beach. I saw her stare out towards the ocean with the bottle of pills and the white powder in her hands. She made a decision that day. She chose to follow white Rabbit. She went down the hole toward her dream world. I saw her go into the water but didn't see her come up. I found her letter that evening on my desk."

I gazed out into the back crowd. My eyes were brimmed with tears.

"She wanted me to tell you her story and that every single person was to blame for her death. She said she would rather be dead than to be here. Her words were hard, cold, and honest. I wouldn't doubt her words when she wrote, "For each and every one of you who are mourning for my death, you are a bunch of liars. What goes around, comes around, not even God has mercy on you.""

I looked down at her letter, watching a tear, stain the paper. My best friend killed herself, influenced by LSD. Could I have stopped her from injecting the venom into her body? Would it have even made a difference?

I sat there on the couch, injecting the LSD into my system. Feeling the pleasure of the high was what everyone craved for. All my trips were trophies to put under my belt, to remember the good times. I thought back to memorable time, a month ago. She was sitting in my house, on this exact couch. Nothing could compare to how I felt. Not even all these trips.

At first, all we did was talk; mostly her. She was complaining how stupid her parents were. She knew that they didn't see her or listen. She wanted to badly to get away from them and everyone who stereotypes her.

From her ranting, I could tell she needed a quick high. She needs to feel the pleasure.

She was surprised when I offered; I thought she would turn it down given her stereotype reputation. She didn't even hesitate to take it. The only thing she asked was if it was pure.

Everyone who has been doing LSD knew the number one rule, if it's pure no more, no less. Pure LSD could kill you almost instantly if abuse. She seemed to get excited at the thought but then quickly shrugged it off. After we injected it into our system, everything became more relaxed. Mostly we asked each other blunt question.

After a while, she became silent. She seemed to be thinking hard; her eyes dancing all over the place.

"Could you do it?" she whispered unexpectedly. I must have been out of it since I didn't know what it was.

"Do what?"

"Could you-End your life in a dream?" she whispered more loudly. Her eyes were distant.

"I don't plan on ending my life any time soon." I retorted. She shook her head.

"No, - I mean, if you had a choice."

I still didn't understand the meaning of the question, or even yet now how to even answer it. So I did was every male knew. I agreed.

"I do too," She muttered. Her eyes were now on me.

That was the only time she was completely honest with me.

I really didn't care. Now, that she left me to this world for her own selfish reasons was only the reason why I even thought about her. She coaxed me into giving her the information so she could plan her suicide act, and then go blaming on every one at her funeral saying we were the reason why she was dead. She can go piss in her own little dream world.

I got up from the couch and came back with a bag. Only for special occasions would I bring out the pure stuff.

Slowly, I pierce the needle through my clear skin. The rapid release of the liquid stung my arm. I tossed the needle aside, then back further on the couch.

I closed my eyes, feeling the euphoria tremble throughout my body.

"Just like a dream," I murmured before closing my eyes, falling into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

In these series of unfortunate events, to understand you must go back to where it starts or most likely, where it ended. I was born September 13, 1987 as a love child of Charlie and Renee Swan. Charlie thought I was a gift from heaven, to cherish them in love. Renee on the other hand thought I was a gift of Satan, which proves that Charlie named me Isabella, Bella for short. Renee work as a CEO of a corporate company down in Seattle. On the verge of twenty-three, having a child was not an asset to the company. Neither was Charlie for the matter, ascending to thirty-five in the spring. 

After my birth, they (mostly Charlie) were force to be married to cover up the affair of them having a one-night stand fling. They loved each other. A different kind of love but still love. Their intimacy was shown through closed doors, which was force into a subtle gesture in public. My mother anxiously waited until I was at least five to replace Charlie when going to the formal Dinners. 

She would dress me up into velvet dresses, with tight curls on my head. She taught me how to be obedient with the curling iron. Every party I would sit alone in the corner, watch my mother get drunk in front of her co-workers. Her venom mouth entertains them, while I watch stupidly.

Through out the few years, the more obedient I became. They expected high standards from me. High grades, high manners, high vocabulary, high fashion; the list would go one endless to the most absurd things like a high price boyfriends. 

My father never spoke against what my mother demanded of me, and became more like her. He would push me into a character that was ill nature, snobby, and bitter. Naturally, I refuse but the obedient over thought me. I concluded that it was best to keep up a charade of my parents golden child. It made them happy. Behind the charade, I kept my bohemian self-cover for when I was not in their presence. While then wanted me to pursue a career in accounting, I secretly took classes in journalism and English literature. 

Before we really take this story into full drive you must understand that few people knew the real me. My real best friend and two of my teachers know why I really did this.

"No who can tell me what computer companies have actually reached the top?" Asked Mr. Boughire, the teacher who thought his students were complete idiots and did not know anything about the market today. 

I raised my hand at annoyance. These people were thinking so hard when the answers were literally right in front of them, literally!

"Ah yes, Miss Swan?"

"Apple and Dell of course Mr. Boughire." I respond. Many of the students faces fell as they pushed away there Mac and Dell laptops. It was clearly ironic that I am the only person acing this class when I don't even want to take the credit. 

"Thank you Miss Swan now would anyone like to guess who are head of the companies?" pestered Mr. Boughire. A hand shot up at the desk to the left of me. 

"Swan's Skanky mother and her boyfriends father, which of course they are both having an affair with each other," Retorted the idiot Tyler Crowley.

He was such an idiot to have the guts to say that out loud right next to his table partner, my boyfriend Mike Newton. Surely, Mike was going to beat Tyler for his words for he took pride in his father. I on the other hand encourage the rumors that Tyler's foul mouth disburses. It was the truth, and I have posted the picture on YouTube for reference.

"Settle down, Mr. Crowley, tonight I want you to research the meaning of owning your own business," Mr. Boughire said as the bell rang. I rolled my eyes at the thought of owning my own company and began to gather my things to head for lunch. 

At the Cafeteria, tables are ranked by roles of society. The rich corporate off springs, near the middle of the room, all the way down to hippie love children who decide to actually get an education. I always battle against which table I belong with, see the fact that I was a love child. As usually, Mike would veer me off that patch while making horrendous remarks about the group. It once personally offended me see my inner soul was a hippie desperately trying to come out. It longed for the intellect conversations of whether or not Cathy and Heathcliff were actually lovers. However, once more, the obedience of myself mechanically way my way over to the rich corporate off springs table. At my table, it consist of Mike, Me, Lauren, Jessica, and Lindsey. All of which parents own major companies. It is a blast to hear the latest scandal or how much money they made in one hour. 

Mechanically I tune it out to gaze along the cafeteria. My next class of creative writing. I was struggling with a plot line that was not inconspicuous of what my life really was all about. 

Almost dramatically, the doors of the cafeteria open to make way for a man not of this school. He was impossibly handsome, to the point of being almost godlike. His skin is looked like granite--deathly pale, hard as stone, but perfect and flawless. He had dark purple circles under his eyes. His eyes, they are had to described, as a golden topaz or ochre. However, his eyes looked emerald beneath the topaz. His hair is a strange shade of bronze or as auburn, and is in casual disarray. He stands at apriority six feet, and he has a slender (yet still quite muscular) build. I eyed him up quickly before turning my gaze at the table. 

"Look Lauren, isn't that guy completely gorgeous" Whispered Jessica. I raised my head to see exactly whom she was talking about. And it was the same guy.

"He certainly is, Yoo Whoo, Cute boy, over here!" Exclaimed Lauren, which was rather pathetic. The boy looked over at Lauren and walked towards our table. Lindsay scooted over to the next chair so he would sit next to Lauren. His face was relatively calm, not excited nor mad. He sat down quickly looking at Lauren. He probably had a sense of a crush on her and was playing hard to get.

"So, what's your name cutie?" Lauren spoke seductively. If he knew what is best for him he would run or slap her.

"Edward, Edward Mason." 

His voice was completely authentic. His accent was Old day English, almost velvety to the sound.

"Edward? I am Lauren Mallory. Are you new here?" Lauren asked, fluttering her eyelashes his way.

"Yes, I am a transfer student from England; my home is in North Yorkshire."

My eyes immediately came to his face. North Yorkshire was the foreground of heaths. Which immediately my mind connected to Wuthering Heights. All too soon, I was looking into his eyes. The emerald hidden beneath the topaz bothered. Me it seemed to unnaturally; however it kept my interest. Does his family normally have that unnatural color? On the other hand, am I a bit paranoid and it is really contacts?

"Do you wear contacts?" I Blurted. 

Everyone's eyes were on me, but do I care? Edward was looking straight at me, a bit perplexed.

"Yes, I do. My naturally eye color is emerald." He responds, still not breaking eye contact.

Then Laurens high pitch voice had to break it, "Oh and that's Isabella. She rarely speaks during lunchtime. You must have a weird affect on her." Lauren sniffed. Clearly she only want his attention hers only. I felt Mike's arm drape itself across my shoulders. I sat there stiff and silent as I watch them talk.

"So, what class do you have next Edward?' Lauren cooed. She leaned her body slightly forward. 

"An English class I presume." He mumbled. He wasn't even looking at her but the table. 

"Maybe I could ask Isabella to switch your classes since she works as an office _maid_" Lauren smiled. I bit my lip to hide smiled since I actually have creative writing next. Another secret of my life. They thought writing and expressing ideas with necessary money was what vagabonds do for their jobs. As if spend time getting coke up was a job since many scandals within Hollywood were making the money off the press.

Mike Leaned toward my ear and whispered, "Do you want to hang out later? Or do we have to attend a party for the company?" I gave an involuntary shiver, for not his words but what was meant behind them.

I shook my head and started grabbing my things. 

"Did I do anything wrong?" questioned Mike. Everyone's attention on the table was completely on us. I gave him a look, then pushed in my chair and headed towards the door.

"You won't have a ride after school you know," cried Mike before was out the door.

Do I really care anyway? To ride in his fancy Mercedes was a sign capture. In the car, I cannot leave. So does it matter that I get to walk in the sun, free as a bird?

No because then my whole charade would be gone.


	3. Chapter 3

I immediately walked to my next class. The halls were bare and empty; the echo of my hurried footsteps filled the hale. Being with Mike was complicated. He was the ideal picture of a perfect boyfriend. He had honey blonde hair that was gelled to his perfection; his blue eyes were crisp. He exceeded in my parents expectations, when around company.

I don't mind Mike when he was alone. He was like me in a way. He puts up a charade for his parents, when inside he is a perverted druggie. My mom didn't care that he was overly sexually, since had once said, "If a guy comes to you and requested to pleasure you, you should take it while it last."

What my mom didn't know, is that half of these encounters were when he is drug up. I will admit that I join him on his drug expeditions. They let me run wild and ravaged. Mike wanted to go again tonight. However, sadly, we did have a ball to attend to. My mother's promotion party.

My footsteps finally came to halt outside of a classroom. I glance around the hall again before finally going in.

Mr. Kuga greeted me with a smile and a nod. Mr. Kuga was not your average teacher. His gelled spiked hair and white button shirt; his sleeves rolled up, with beige slacks made him look like more like a model than a teacher. 

"Finished the poem?"

I smiled sheepishly, "Not quite, but I need you to revise a section for me." He crossed him arms and gave me a knowing look.

"You need to start working on you novel, if you want to keep this extra-credit instead of regular English."

I cringed. I hate regular English with all of the people who don't even know that William Shakespeare could be gay from his writings. They always overlooked the subject. Even the teacher, Mrs. Link was horrible and didn't even know the subject.

"I have started it, the first chapter." I said while walking to my seat in the back to put my bag down. 

"Fine. Anyways, we have a new student joining our class. That means who ever it is will be seating next to you." He smirked.

"Do you even know who it is?" I asked. It had better not be some preppy cheerleader. When writing, I like silence and the sounds of the radio, not peppy girls.

"There is no name. But we will soon find out in one minute."

The bell rang signaling for students to go to their last class of the Wednesday afternoon. I waited patiently at my desk absorbed in Wuthering heights again, too nervous to see who will be coming in through the door. 

"I thought you were an office helper?" said a smooth familiar voice. The velvet sound was coming from the seat next to me. 

I looked up and met the topaz- annoying flints of green- eyes. They were soft and smoldered. 

"Your in this class?" I exclaimed.

"So your friends don't know about this?" Edward asked. He raised a brow in my silence. I put my book down roughly and got up to walk over to Mr. Koga. He was shuffling a stack of papers that was all over his desk. He laid down the papers then looked up at me. 

"You finish with the poem? Or do you need me to look over it?" he asked casually. 

"Is there any way that he could be seated somewhere else?" I gritted. He gave me a puzzled look.

"Edward Mason?"

"Yes."

"Why? The period has just begun"

I let out a heavy sigh.

"He knows Lauren and Jessica and Mike." I flatly said. He didn't even look worried. Mr. Koga knows my secret and kept it well hidden for me. 

"You guys can learn a lot from each other. This morning he was telling me-"

"Wait, you told me you didn't even know who he was!" I huffed. 

Mr. Koga looked down at him papers and leaned on the desk. "Okay, I might have lied about that part. But, I think he can keep you secret as well as his own."

"He has a secret?" I questioned. He did not even look the kind of person that would have dead weight on his back. He looked normal and healthy. Mr. Koga gave me a "Get over it" look, which I was glad to return.

I dragged myself back to my seat uneasy. Even if he had a secret, he could be a hypocrite. He could think I was some liar, brownnosing girl that everyone should gossip about. I looked up from the floor to see him skimming through my book. Well the term skimming was an understatement since he was in the middle, his eyes in concentration. 

Carefully, I sat down at my seat, brought out my laptop from my bag, and turned it on. I heard Edward turn the page. He sighed then put the book near my laptop. I didn't even acknowledge his actions, and open up a document. 

"You don't seem to be the type of person to be into books and writing." Edward stated casually. I wanted to reply that he did not seem like the type of person that had a secret. Instead, I grabbed my book and stored it in my bag, then to find that Edward was reading my poem. 

"Or this deep," he said taking his eyes of the screen. I didn't dare to look into his eyes but his nose. 

"What is it to you?" I asked rather harsh. Edward didn't seem to mind but smiled. Again, I still looked at his nose. 

"I think it's interesting."

So what, I am an animal in a zoo because I don't see like the kind of person that likes books and writing? That was a low blow.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my poem. Edward was silent but I could feel his eyes burn into me? Am I that interesting? I went over the entire document, frustrated. Not because of Edwards peanut gallery comments but because of my work. It feels unfinished, not how I pictured it. 

I leaned back into the chair and bit my lip in habit. 

"You make comical faces when you write." Edward commented. I clenched my teeth and click the print button. I got up to grab my poem from the printer and walk back up to Mr. Koga's desk still frustrated. He was in the middle of writing something and seemed utterly engrossed in it. His face was a mere two inches from the screen. Not wanting to disturb him, I set the poem down, but he noticed. He picked up the paper and looked over it while I stood there awkwardly. 

One of my pet peeves was waiting for something, especially when I am waiting for a critique. It bother me when people tell me when something isn't right or when I worded something on purpose made no sense. I always wait for them to say that it is a piece of crap and I can do better. Which explain my thoroughness in checking my work.

"You okay?" Mr. Koga asked when he finally looked up from my paper.

I shrugged, "Yeah, just usually anxious when you're checking over my work." He set the paper down and folded his hands.

"No, I mean your writing a poem on how you feel in deep detail that is beyond emotion."

I frown, "It's just a poem."

"…I'm conscious of everything around me

Except myself

My mind was outside of my body, free

I could hear everything

See everything

Feel everything

Except myself

Everything is played

With my head

Everything racing

My body incoherent

Doing everything mechanically

I am not here

I am there

In another world

Inside my contorted mind…, that has to mean something to your or you wouldn't have written it that way." He said, he had a concern look on his face.

"It's just words okay. I have been out of it lately." I said. It wasn't a lie or the truth. I have been thinking so much lately that my mind usually wanders to vivid places.

Mr. Koga gave me a long meaningful stare before putting my paper into my file for safekeeping. Again, I dragged myself to my chair. There was an hour and a half left of class, which was good enough to get some rest. 

I was so tired that I didn't even care that Edward was looking at my laptop. Why bother anyway when he is going to find out eventually. Mr. Koga probably informed him of my blunt ways. 

Therefore, I laid my head on my arms to watch Edward read several documents. I was interesting seeing him reading them. His nostrils would flare from time to time; his eyes would go wide then sad occasionally. He was so immerse with my work that he didn't even start on his work. 

"What do you write about?" I found myself asking him. 

His eyes were still glued to the screen, "Anything, I guess. Just depends on my mood. Usually my works aren't as good as this." At his complement, I blushed. 

Why am I blushing anyways? Countless people in my class had comment on my work but I never reacted this way. It is shameful to react this way to a guy that is a complete stranger to me. 

"What exactly are you reading?" I asked. I tried to be casually, but it seemed bitter. His eyes tore away from the screen and looked at me (still going to look at the nose).

"The Poison Apple. I am impressed by the imagery. Your friends should think very highly of you." He said. He sounded sincere.

"Does it matter what they think?" I whispered. It wasn't meant for him to hear but he did.

"They don't even seem like your friends. Why do you hang out with them, Isabella?" he murmured. 

"Bella," I corrected automatically. I didn't answer him. If he knew the reason why then it would lead to even more questions.

I guess he sensed the tension, and move on to another topic, "You love Wuthering Heights?" he asked. He closed the laptop and set it to the side.

"One of my favorite. It is interesting the way Emily Bronte explain certain things." The words came out easily and calm as if I was talking to Mr. Koga.

"My mother made me reading when I was nine. She said that I should read English literature while I have the time on my hands." He smiled. His eyes were bright, and happy.

"Why did you move here then?" I asked. At that, his happiness became stiff and calm. His eyes were distant, and hallow, ask if remembering a bad memory. 

"I'm sorry, I I shouldn't have brought it up." I stammered ashamed. It was obvious that the memory pained him.

Oddly, he smiled, "No worries. I was sent here to live with my Aunt. My, er… cousin passed away."

"I'm sorry"

"Don't be."

My disgraceful blush came back, in which I packed my laptop waiting for my blush to die down. The effect he had on me was embarrassing, especially since for one he could expose of this and two, my boyfriend. I never blushed when Mike gives me a compliment, I just roll my eyes. However, for Edward, on the first day meeting could make disgrace myself within less than a class period what completely absurd.

So why do I like it?

The rest of the class period, our casual conversation continued. He asked most of the questions like my favorite band, song, flower, and color, whatever you could think of. He never asked anything personal, but I could see the toiling in his eyes to ask those questions. 

Before long, the bell rang. I was finishing telling him about my dream care when all of the sudden he became serious.

"Do you have a ride?" His voice was smooth and stern.

"No," I said sheepishly, remembering the words that Mike said. He was true to his word about these things, but never worried about me being stuck in the rain. 

Edward was messing with is bag straps, his eyes were dancing around. Hesitantly, he said, "Would you like me to give you a ride?"

My face fell. I would like to accept his offer. But, how would it look. I always felt shallow when I think of how things would look if I did something not normal for me. People would think that I was hooking up behind Mike's back. If Mike found out then he would tell my parents, which would get my mom involved. She would scold me on how stupid I am for letting myself be seen in public with someone that doesn't have a high social status. But Edward has sat at our table, making him rank at the top like Mike. And it's not as if I can't have male friends who can drive me home. Therefore, it shouldn't matter if I did accept his offer.

"Sure," I said, there is no turning back now.


	4. Chapter 4

The car ride was silent and awkward

The car ride was silent and awkward.

I am use to Mike's Mercedes rumble instead of Edward's Volvo's purr. I nearly gawk my eyes out when I saw his Volvo. It was silver, sleek, and shiny. Like a new shiny dime.

Edward was an excellent driver; barely looking at the rode. He had one hand on the stirring wheel the other in his pocket. He was glancing out the window, but if I was not wrong, I could see him looking at me at the corner of his eyes.

It was uneasy sitting in his car. I still only knew him for a short period and I was rather calm. It was eerie that I didn't feel the need to check how I am, what I am doing or saying. I feel completely okay, I guess you can say. This only ever happens around Angela, and even then, I have to be careful since my parents didn't approve of her hippie side. So how is he different? He is just some person that moved from Europe.

When he stopped in front of my house, all the calmness was gone. We were right in front of my house; the windows of the Volvo open. In instance fear of panic rose through my body. I need to control this situation quick.

"How did you know where I lived?" I asked in Alarm. I didn't exactly tell him where to go. His face didn't falter.

"I saw you leave your house this morning." His eyes were smoldered. My heartbeat was racing; I had to look straight into his eyes. Then I lost my train of thought. All I could think was how glassy his eyes were. I could see myself looking into them. I force myself away from those thoughts. I had to act as if this was an out of a bloom no relationship ever. Nevertheless, I couldn't stop gazing into those eyes.

He looked down and smiled, which I realize I must look like an idiot just staring at him. I blushed in embarrassment, and grabbed my bag. I already humiliated myself, twice, and I should go before I make it worse. I open the car door and got out; my back facing him.

"Bella, I won't tell." He called behind me. I couldn't respond. I continue walking up my steps and open the door.

I closed the door behind me quickly and exhaled. I couldn't think of this, or else. I put my bag down by the door and enter the kitchen, which there I saw my mom at the table with the curtains open.

I was in panic mode now, again. I strolled toward the fridge, closely watching my Mother out of the corner of my eye. I picked up a coke and settled myself at the table, far away as possible. She was staring out the window. I tried swallowing down my coke, but the lump in my throat wouldn't budge. What was I thinking of letting Edward drive me home? It was stupid, foolish, suicid-

"Honey, who was that out there?" My mother asking _sweetly._

"Edward, Mike uh... Had practice and couldn't give me a ride." I said slowly stalling. She nodded and pursed her lips.

"I don't remember Edward being one of your friends."

Oh no, think!

"He just moved here. Today was his first day."

She looked back out the window. Her face was blank.

"And he is your friend?"

"Well, no… but he is in one of my classes."

"Oh really? Well hurry up and get ready. I am going to do you hair. My party will start in two hours."

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The pain was throbbing in my neck. Apparently, I didn't think hard enough. My punishment? Two burns at the nape of my neck and multiply scratches on my scalp from her pulling my hair. The sad thing is, is that I am used to it. One-step out of line and my night will be hell. My abuser loves perfection in almost everything. She wants her house to be perfect with a fresh cut lawn, her husband to be masculine and gentle men, her daughter to polite, clean, sweet, good-looking, smart, well educated, and sassy all rolled into one person who would obey every command and every last-minute rule that she comes up with.

That is why I am living a double life. All of my mom's perfect friends for me are all the same but actually love it. I am on the verge of hell. Hell, which consists on being in public at parties or what ever the even is.

Therefore, here I am in Mike's lap while he is trying to feel up my leg and I can't do anything about it. My mom approves of such behavior, so I am pretty much in hell.

"Mike," I said, pushing his hand off my thigh. I gave him an intense stare but only to be given a kiss on the lips. I stood there and waited until he was done.

"Why are you in such a bad mood?" he asked pulling away. I shrugged, knowing it is worthless to try to explain.

"I heard that Edward guy gave you a ride home." He mumbled. I bet he was trying to let get me to give in.

I sighed, "I was checking the guy out. I see how Lauren likes him and seeing if he was acceptable." These lie were easy. Lauren would be thrilled that I was helping her to get him.

Mike nodded then started sucking on my neck. There was no way I can skip tonight. There was a good chance my mom would see us in this position and she would give Mike the keys to her car and the Hotel room. My mom does not care that I lost my virginity with some older guy just to please her. All she cares is that I am fucked as much as she is. Some mom she is. And yet, some guy that I just met can't drive me home

"Mike, are you sure about this?" I asked, trying to persuade him to do something, anything else than this.

"Yes, and tomorrow I will show you something that I bet you would love." He said against my neck. "Besides, I need to mark my territory if you going to help Lauren out with that guy."

"I don't even like the guy Mike." I said rolling my eyes at his stupid protective self.

"Still, I don't like the way he looks at you." He mouth moved closer to my collarbone.

Jlasldfj; ljfa; lskdfja; slkdfja; lskdfj

Slowly, I wrapped my scarf around my neck. Last night was different. Usually, Mike would have his fun then go to sleep or get something to eat. Last night, he was all over me. He took it slow and tense, as if savoring me for the first time. Just thinking about it, it makes me feel all slimy. Like I was guilty. All night, I felt ashamed of how he thought _we _were to so intimate and made for each other. When really, he was a picture in my obedient life.

I gazed at myself one more time to see if I covered the hickey all the way. It was huge and dark. The possibility of it going away by lunch? Zero. It feels embarrassing to wear your night before events on your sleeve, or rather, your neck.

I went over myself one more time to see any flaws, and then went out the door to walk to school.


End file.
